#@a-whump-muffin

[mejomonster]

Hey! Started watching Yu Yu Hakusho live action bc of your reblog and it’s actually really good overall! Btw the guy in the screenshots you reblogged is a fox! I won’t say more since spoilers :3

!!!! WOOH

Im super slow in watching, but Im liking it so far! I ended up getting the first manga from the library

Fox!!!

[set-phasers-to-whump]

bandages

prompt: makeshift bandages

whumpee: sakari nurmi

fandom: karppi/deadwind

hiii what's up! here's a short little thing ft. plenty of blood :) hope you enjoy!

His mouth tastes like blood. The air smells like it, metallic and heavy and warm. The only thing he can hear, besides the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, is Karppi. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Hey, keep your arm raised!”

He obeys, though his muscles are getting tired. He rests his arm carefully against the hard concrete wall behind him, feels the blood dripping down his skin and soaking into his sleeve. 

There is an unconscious man lying on the ground a few feet away, and the knife he’d had is currently being used by Karppi to tear her shirt into strips. Sakari watches her work and tries to ignore how lightheaded he feels. 

The cut across his wrist is deep and painful. The knife had cut him almost down to the bone, he thinks, and the bleeding is heavy and hot against his skin. 

They are waiting for an ambulance, but they’re in the middle of nowhere and it is taking too long to arrive. So Karppi is making bandages. 

When her shirt is thoroughly destroyed, Karppi moves forward into his space, takes hold of his arm without allowing him to lower it, and uses the knife to cut the fabric of his shirt away from his wrist. She is careful and it does not cause him any more pain, but it takes all of his willpower not to flinch or tell her to stop. The knife’s blade is still speckled with his blood.

When his sleeve has been cut away at last, Sakari looks upwards at the damage. The skin around the cut is stained bright red and the cut is a darker shade of maroon, fresh blood continually pumping out of the wound and trickling down his arm. 

He looks away rather quickly.

Karppi does not waste any time. She wraps one strip of fabric around his wrist, directly atop the cut, and ties it tightly. It hurts horribly, but Sakari grits his teeth and bears it. He tries not to think about how dirty the fabric might be, pressed against his open wound. For now, it is enough that the bleeding slows. He can worry about everything else later.

Another few strips are tied atop the initial bandage. When Karppi finally runs out of material, Sakari can barely feel his hand for the pressure exerted by the tightly-tied fabric, but he’s pretty sure the bleeding has indeed slowed. 

He carefully lowers his arm, rests it in his lap. This time, Karppi does not stop him. He leans his head back against the cool concrete and closes his eyes. His head is still spinning. 

He hears a shuffling noise, feels Karppi sink down beside him. She grabs the hand on the uninjured side of his body and squeezes it. He can feel his blood on her fingers. 

“You’ll be okay,” she says, like there is no room for argument, and he believes her, just like that. 

thanks for reading! hope you liked it, love u <3

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Wonderful

CW: Intimate whump, frank/mocking noncon discussion, captivity, forced relationship (... sort of), threats of violence/death

(As always, Jax is @comfy-whumpee's OC and is used with permission and oversight)

-

Brayden Marcoset has never hated a single soul as much as he hates his cousin’s stupid fucking English muffin of a man.

Savvie had taken a perfectly good house slave, trained by the best man in the business, and then she somehow ruined him entirely. Placid and obedient had become watchful and cunning. As if she’d turned a fucking housepet into a caged, half-rabid… coyote, or something.

Not that Brayden’s ever seen one other than on television, but… still. Metaphors don’t matter.

She’s given the man delusions of grandeur, pulled him into her bed when he should have spent his nights in the servant quarters or bedded down with the hunting hounds where he belongs. 

It’s one thing for a Marcoset man to take a liking to staff - that's just part of life - but none of them ever demanded to marry one. And no Marcoset man ever tried to make any of the resulting little bastards into legitimate Marcoset heirs. 

It’s disgusting. 

Brayden’s eyelid twitches just looking at him, where he sits on the long end of the sectional like he even deserves to be there. Savvie dresses him in clothes that are worth more than he is, simpers and smiles and kisses him, calls him sweet little nicknames and all but throws herself at him 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

It’s hell, having to play along with her ridiculous little games.

But… here they are, he and the man Savvie insists on calling her husband sitting across from each other like this is normal or fine and not Savvie twisting and bending the rules of reality to her will like she always does.

Jax should be standing unobtrusively in a corner waiting to be given an order. He should be wearing the staff uniform of white shirt, black pants, black collar, and eyes on the ground.

He should be her little secret she brings to her bed and then sends away right after and he should be grateful for being her favorite.

Instead, he’s sitting on the couch as miserable as Brayden is, wearing a pair of tailored jeans and a sweater Brayden owns himself in a different color and now can’t wear ever again, not now that the muffin has worn it. 

Not now that he realizes Jax looks better in that style of sweater than he does. 

Grudgingly, he admits to himself that Jax looks pretty good in general. Too thin, thanks to Savvie’s iron control over how much he eats and when he gets the chance to eat it, but… good. He’s got that hint of lean muscle you can’t quite hide, and his hair looks good. Maybe he’s got shadows under his eyes, but really… that’s not so bad. He’s handsome enough, even with the shock collar permanently locked around his neck. 

Next to him, looking ethereal - she thinks, anyway - in an empire-waist gown with too many layers of faint pastel shades that she believes turn her into some kind of watercolor queen, Savvie has a hand on his knee as she gestures. She pauses, looking between he and Jax, and Brayden feigns a reaction - he has no idea what she just said. 

Neither does Jax, he thinks - he’s staring slightly off to one side as Savvie chatters about their most recent ‘babymoon’, a trip down to the beach house to enjoy the waves, work on her next album, and really just focus on being ‘us’ for a while. She’s only twenty-three weeks pregnant and they’ve already gone on two of the damn things, Savvie dragging Jax with her like the idiot little dog on a short leash he might as well be.

How many more can she plan? How many more of these stories is he going to have to pretend he’s listening to?

Brayden watches Jax instead.

His jaw is angled more sharply than it was when he’d first arrived, years ago, as if he’s always biting something back. Brayden had seen him a few times before back then, before he’d gone to the cops and it had nearly cost them all everything… Jax had been blank, then, too, but it had been… different. 

Now he isn’t really empty. 

Jax's face always looks like a computer with the monitor off but programs still whirring all the same. Whatever there is going on behind his eyes, Brayden can’t see it. And he’s usually pretty good at reading the shit the servants think they’re hiding. Or roughing them up until they tell him anyway.

But with Jax, it’s like looking through completely frosted glass. Shadows, a hint of a color, maybe, but… nothing clear. Never enough to get any understanding. Being trapped in Savvie’s life - in her bed, in her arms - has made Jax into a better liar than he’d been when he first arrived.

That’s not just irritating.

That’s dangerous.

But Savvie doesn’t see it.

Savvie pauses, leans over, whispers into Jax’s ear as she gives his knee a squeeze. Brayden watches a soft smile flicker across his face, gone as fast as it came. He whispers, Yes, Miss Savvie in that hushed voice that makes Brayden’s teeth itch. Savvie pushes herself to her feet. Her stomach isn't really that rounded but she acts like it’s already huge, rubbing her hand over it, up and down. Brayden barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. 

He gets the sense Jax feels the same as he does, for once.

“I’ll be right back,” Savvie says brightly. “Keep an eye on him for me, won’t you, Bray? Just… part of the magic, I guess, is having to go to the bathroom every six minutes. I swear…” She’s still talking when she leaves the room. Has she stopped since she got here? He’s pretty sure she hasn’t. She barely even pauses to breathe.

But at least the room gets quiet, now. 

He glances over at Jax, who doesn’t look back. But, like a shark scenting blood a mile away, Brayden sees how his scarred hands shift where they rest, falsely relaxed. Brayden watches his ring finger twitch, the simple band Savvie put there glinting dimly in the light. 

“How badly do you wish she would just drop dead right now?” He asks, seemingly idly, tipping his cut-crystal glass to watch the whiskey and ice swirl around each other. “More than before she got herself pregnant, or less?”

Jax’s jaw shifts. Those eyes move to his, briefly, all innocent uncertainty. “Don’t know w-what you mean,” He says, voice low. 

“Oh, give up the bullshit,” Brayden says, huffing as he takes a drink, leaning over with his elbows on his thighs. He finds a half-smile, but he doesn’t mean it, and he doesn’t try to look like he does. “We all know how you feel. You might as well be honest with me about it. Besides, we’re basically family, now, right? I was at your wedding. I was your best man, your best-... what, d’you call it your best mate in merry old England?”

He laughs at his own mockery of an accent that has only the slightest relation to Jax’s own, taking a drink. This is his fourth whiskey of the evening and the other three went down smooth. The world is getting brighter, with sharper edges - just how he likes it.

At the mention of the wedding - where Jax had gone where he was told, done what he was told to do, said the words Savvie gave him to say, and probably gone back to Savvie’s home that night and whispered sweet nothings like a man with a gun to his head - Jax’s fingers twitch again. They close into loose fists. He doesn’t even bother with a reply, this time. 

Just looks away again.

“Hey.” Brayden frowns, snapping his fingers, but Jax doesn’t even flinch. “I’m talking to you.”

 More silence.

“Come on. Give me something to work with.” He sits back again, raking a hand back through his hair. “You’re a treat to have around for a visit, aren’t you? So very talkative. Goddamn chatty. Jax, why are you even here, anyway? You don’t have to be.”

That gets him the briefest bit of eye contact, but nothing more. “Miss Savvie was invited for dinner,” He says, voice low and blank and empty. It makes Brayden’s anger rise like a storm surge inside him, battering his resolve. 

The rest of the staff… react. They murmur obedience, they smile when he tells them to, they answer every question with yes, Master Brayden or no, Master Brayden, or whatever you want, Master Brayden. But Jax, the worst of them all, has to be treated like he matters just because Savvie thinks his dick hung the moon. 

Brayden moves fluidly onto his feet, ignoring the way the world spins a little. Maybe, he thinks, he shouldn’t have another whiskey after he finishes this one. He moves around the coffee table, closing the distance between them. Jax’s fists close tighter and tighter, until his nails must be breaking skin. As Brayden bends and then leans in close, Jax subtly leans away, trying to keep distance between them.

But Brayden isn’t in the mood for distance.

Not tonight.

Instead, he shifts gears, switches over to easygoing, we’re all guys here friendliness. “Seriously, man. We all know she’s batshit, she always was. We all know it. Nobody really thinks this is Romeo and Juliet but her. You know? You should be scrubbing floors right now. Or… I don’t know, maybe you should be somewhere else. Like back home, huh?”

Jax takes in a breath, his eyes determinedly focused on a spot on the wall somewhere over Brayden’s shoulder, but he doesn’t reply. This close, Brayden can smell the cologne Savvie makes him wear. 

“It’s okay,” Brayden murmurs, looking towards the door Savvie went through and then back. “It’s just the two of us here. Be honest with me, Mr. Marm-... Marcoset.” He’s slurring a little as the whiskeys catch up to him, but it doesn’t matter. “You spend half the night thinking about putting a pillow over her fucking face, and you know nobody who actually knew her would even blame you, so why not do it? Or… look, it’s just us here and now. Just you and me. Tell me why you don’t just… go, get out of here, get the fuck out of my sight. And don’t say the collar. If you’re here at this house, the shock collar can’t be set to make you stay at her house, so… why not just fucking take off before she can get to the remote? You could make it outside before she even notices. I wouldn’t even say anything, I’d just sit here and wait. I’d even give you a good head start.”

He drops his voice lower, soft and poisonously seductive. The kind of voice he might use on a pretty servant girl, not his cousin’s idiot husband. Just above a whisper. The same way he might have otherwise murmured to one of the staff to be in my room at midnight, to Jax he offers a different kind of poison laced with sugar. 

“She left the keys in the car, didn’t she? You know she did. Go on, Jax. I won’t say a damn thing. Just go. Get the fuck out of our lives and be free and then I never have to see your ugly fucking face again.”

He’s nearly breathing whiskey-breath in Jax’s face, and still, the man doesn’t move. Doesn’t even wrinkle his nose.

Brayden chuckles, forcing it, because he’s getting absolutely nothing from the man still seated in perfect still silence on the couch, but he can feel under all that empty space the rising tension. He can tell he’s getting to Jax, at least a little. 

He wants to throw him to the floor, kick his ribs until he hears the satisfying snap when one of them breaks, and then keep going. Give Savvie back her man with black eyes and busted-out teeth, a broken jaw. Show him how little he means, no matter what Savvie tells him.

He’s just staff.

He’s just something else the Marcosets own.

He doesn’t deserve their name, and he isn’t even grateful for it.

“Come on,” He murmurs, nearly close enough to touch now. “You know you want to go. You could get out before there’s some little monster screaming for you alongside her all night, some bastard baby you’ll hate as much as you hate her. Throw a punch, I’ll let you hit me even. Make it look like a fight and not like you’re just following my orders, too. Go on. Or… well, wait a second.”

He sits down next to Jax, slinging an arm around his shoulder like they’re the best of friends, leaning in until he’s nearly close enough to kiss.

“Do you... do you not even want to go? Huh? Is the problem that you really want to be here? Got a lil case of the Stockholm Syndrome? That’s not real, you know. They made it up... doesn’t matter. But hey, maybe you have it anyway. Maybe you like fucking her every single night. That’s why you never take the chances, because… because we know there are chances, don’t we, you and I? After you dick her down real good, she falls asleep and you have hours, but no… you stay right there and wait to be told to dick her down again, huh? Because you want to be here." He laughs again, barely making a sound. "You sad little shit, you actually love her and you don’t even know it. Love her so much you’re having a baby together. Some little fucking clone of my cousin, but hey. Maybe the little goblin will have your eyes, huh? You can teach it to say yes, Miss Savvie like a goddamn moron just like you. Gonna be the baby's first words, right?"

There.

Jax’s back and shoulders feel like iron, tense as steel bearing too much weight under the soft cashmere, beneath Brayden’s arm. The way that tension turns to shaking makes him smile. Jax’s knuckles are bleached against the fabric of his jeans, his face paper-white beneath some red that lingers in his cheeks. 

It’s a good look on him.

It’d be better if he was bleeding.

Too much whiskey has Brayden’s hand creeping back up, over the back of Jax’s neck to the shock collar’s lock. He knows the combo, the whole family knows the combo they use for the shock collars. “I’ll take it off,” He whispers, “And give you twenty minutes. How far can you get, I wonder? I want to see. Don’t you want to see how far you can get?”

Jax’s eyes, locked as they are on the wall in front of him, flare slightly. Brayden’s close enough to hear his breathing suddenly go shallow, and then catch. 

“Come on,” Brayden whispers. “Run, rabbit. Run.”

Brayden’s fingers brush over the lock, the hair that just barely curls over it at the nape of Jax’s neck. 

“Don’t,” Jax says, voice tight. 

Brayden’s lip curls in disgust. “Why not?”

“Because, Brayden, in this particular moment he is smarter than you are.”

The voice of Brayden’s father booms from the doorway,.

Brayden feels blood somehow both rush to his face and also drain from it at the same moment. Then his vision goes red. Jax had seen Isaac coming, hadn’t he? He'd seen, and he hadn’t said a damn thing.

Brayden gets back to his feet, stumbling forward before straightening his posture. Even in his late thirties, he’s still got a hint of nerves around Isaac. Being too drunk in front of his father feels like a great way to get himself in deep shit all over again.

Isaac Marcoset, always the biggest presence in any room he enters, moves casually as he rolls his sleeves back down. Smears of faint red on his knuckles are the only sign of the work he’s been busy with for the past hour. The head of the Marcoset family is all charm and darkness. He’s sly smiles and handshakes that sometimes go on just a little too long, and he’s also agonizing, lingering death in a back room, with staff removing bodies out the back door.

Brayden takes a breath. He feels the strangely teenage urge to hide his whiskey glass behind his back and fights it. “Hey... Hey, Dad.”

Isaac only raises an eyebrow, pouring himself a drink from the bar cart in the corner. The silence draws out, awkward and heavy.

Brayden clears his throat. “I-I wasn’t really going to take it off, I was… I was just fucking with him, that’s all.”

“I certainly hope you’re not fucking with him, Bray.” Isaac takes a drink, waiting for Brayden to understand his terse joke. No one laughs. “I realize he has some sort of attractive quality to him, although I have no idea what, but still. It’s bad enough that my niece lowers herself to bedding him, surely you can abstain?” 

Brayden's face burns so hot he half thinks he'll catch fire. "Dad!"

In the corner of his eyes, Brayden sees the corners of Jax’s smile shift into a shit-eating little smirk. 

The little shit. How dare he looks like that, like he's gotten one over on Brayden, and how dare he wear the fucking wedding ring that means Brayden can’t even do anything about it. Not anything permanent enough to count, anyway.

Brayden drops back into his seat, hunching his shoulders and glaring over the edge of his glass. He tells himself if Jax so much as cracks a fucking joke, he’ll break this glass, carve that smirk into the stupid fucker's face, and beg Savvie for forgiveness afterward. 

When he looks, though, Jax isn’t even looking at him. Those hazel eyes are locked on Isaac, as if Brayden simply ceases to exist when his father walks in the door. It’s a feeling that’s far too familiar, and it makes Brayden feel… small.

Which pisses him off even more.

And Jax knows it.

“Hello, Uncle Isaac,” Jax says, serene. As if they were all simply discussing the weather. But that shit-eating grin doesn’t leave his face, even if it never makes it to his eyes. 

“Hello, miscreant,” Isaac replies, apparently in a good enough mood to humor him. “I have to assume, if I’m forced to endure your presence, that my niece is here as well?”

“She went to th’bathroom,” Brayden mutters, drinking the rest of his whiskey in two gulps, using the burn as a distraction from his embarrassment and fury at even being embarrassed in front of glorified staff, Savvie’s little toy. “Mother said… what, twenty minutes ago? I think? She said supper’s served at seven.”

“Hm. Not much longer, then. Good, I’ve worked up an appetite.” Isaac settles into his favorite armchair in the sitting room, tapping fingertips on the upholstery. “You should learn to control yourself, Bray. My niece’s choice of men may not run to the most handsome or most intelligent-... or men with brains at all, really-... but despite his many faults… well. There isn't anything we can do about those. The miscreant remains whether we like it or not."

“Now you’re just hurting my feelings,” Jax says, with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. “Thought we were family now, Uncle Isaac.” 

Brayden glares at him - he’s been silent, but now he talks? Now he has little quips to say, once Brayden looks like a moron in front of his father and Isaac is the one holding fucking court?

Jax’s smile widens ever so slightly as he finally meets Brayden’s eyes. “Didn’t you just say so? You were at the wedding. You were my best mate.”

“I’m going to pull your teeth out with pliers!” Brayden lunges forward with a roar. He winds one arm back and whips his glass right at Jax, whose hands are up fast enough that it just bounces off his forearms, sprays half-melted ice cubes and whiskey-flavored water in Jax’s hair and clothes, and then cracks into pieces on the floor. “You little shit! I’ll pull out each and every fucking fingernail and make you regret-”

“Brayden Marcoset!” Isaac’s voice is louder than the pulse of fury in Brayden’s mind. “Calm yourself!”

For a long, drawn-out moment, he can’t move. All he can think about is choking the life out of Jax until his smirk dies, until his eyes go dim, and then the emptiness isn’t fake anymore, it’s real. And he can see that Jax knows he wants to, knows just how little there is keeping him from turning him into a smear on the floor for the staff to scrub out.

He wouldn’t even be the first.

Then, he takes a breath and sits down.

“Hannah!” He yells over his shoulder. “Come clean this mess up in here!”

She’s always close by. Hannah, one of the aforementioned bastards the Marcosets hold onto for their own purposes, looks entirely too much like Savvie. She, though, wears the white-and-black uniform, her collar snug around her neck, and her hair - that Marcoset hair, wavy and thick - is cut to her chin. She swallows, hard, when she sees them all. “Master-... oh, good evening, Master Isaac,” She says, feigning cheer, but Brayden isn’t in the fucking mood for it. "Master Jax."

"He's nobody's fucking master. Shut the fuck up. Just clean up the fucking mess,” He says, and waves his hand. Hannah takes in the sight of the cracked glass on the floor and droplets of water, Jax sitting there marked with it himself, and then her gaze moves to the fury on Brayden’s face. 

She pulls a towel from where it had been tucked over her belt for easy use. Her face is carefully expressionless. “Yes, Master Brayden.”

That’s more like it.

The three of them watch her clean in awkward silence - or Isaac and Brayden do, who the fuck knows what Jax is actually looking at - and then she vanishes as quickly as she came.

Brayden points after her. “That should be you,” He says to Jax, voice flat. “Cleaning up my mess, saying yes sir and no sir, and never giving me any shit. Got it? Savvie’s weird obsession with you is the only thing that keeps me from making sure you work your hands to the bone here on my orders.”

Jax opens his mouth - Brayden’s going to kill him, whatever he says next - but Isaac speaks before he manages to say whatever was on his mind. 

“Oh, let it go,” Isaac says, waving a hand. “You’re letting him work you up. When you do this, you teach him that he matters to you.”

“He-”

The door bursts open and all three men tense, then, but it’s only Savvie returning. She’s breathless and flushed and her eyes are shining. She looks like a princess in a fairytale as she rushes forward to grab Jax’s hands in her own and pull him to his feet. “Jax! Honey, come feel!”

She doesn’t even seem to see her cousin or uncle. Only Jax.

Only.

Jax.

Brayden’s teeth grind together watching Jax’s sly cunning disappear, replaced with the play-acting at earnest, if nervous, adoration that Savvie demands from him. Everyone else on earth could disappear and Savvie wouldn’t care, as long as she had her fucking English muffin to cling to.

Nothing fucking matters but him.

“Feel what, Miss Savvie…?” Jax’s confusion, at least, is genuine. His hands hang slightly limp in her grip. She pulls him to her, pressing his palms over her stomach through her dress, biting her lower lip and looking downward.

Brayden groans as he realizes what it is.

Jax glances at him and then back, but it doesn’t seem to have sunk in for him, not just yet. Then he flinches, minutely, eyes widening. He pulls his hands back. “M-Miss Savvie-”

There are bloodstains, small but vibrant, on her dress now, from the wounds he’s made with his own fingernails in the palms of his hands. 

Savvie doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. 

She pulls him right back, her hands pressed down a little too hard over his to keep them where she wants them. Hard enough to make him wince. Savvie’s forehead touches his, and she whispers excitedly, “Did you feel her? Did you feel her kicking?”

Jax stares down, then, at their hands, and her rounded stomach. As if he could look right through it and see the growing life inside. “Yeah,” He whispers. He looks like he wants to sink into the floor, like he might be sick. “I-... I feel it, I th-think. That’s-”

“That’s her kicking,” Savvie whispers. “That’s her. Jax, sweetie, that’s…” She sniffs, taking pause for dramatic effect. “That’s our daughter. Our baby.”

“Th-that’s our baby,” Jax repeats. He sounds numb. 

“Oh,” Savvie whispers, sounding a little amazed. It’s an oddly genuine sound, dropping the theatrics, the eternal performance. As if this has knocked even Savvie out of her usual song-and-dance. She hesitates, and then shifts Jax’s hands a little. “She’s kicking harder for you, isn’t she? She knows it’s you already.”

“Y-... you think she does?” Jax’s voice nearly matches Savvie’s. The awe in his voice might almost be real. It’s brief, but they almost look and sound like a real couple. Just for a second. Just if you tilt your head, squint, and pretend you don’t see the shock collar locked on his neck and the way she holds his hands too tight. 

“Yeah,” Savvie says, and her smile is sweet as she lifts one hand to touch his face. There’s a pause, Jax’s eyes are locked on her stomach, he doesn’t react to her touch at all. Some of the syrupy-soft smile on her face starts to fade. The warmth in her chills. “Jax. She knows you’re her daddy, isn’t that wonderful?”

Half of Brayden is amused that she still has to prod Jax to give his line, to keep up the performance. Half of him is disgusted that Jax goes along with it, tips his head into the palm of her hand and gives her the big doe eyes she loves so much.

“Yes, Miss Savvie,” Jax answers, automatically, meeting her gaze now. He turns his face and it might almost seem like he’s kissing her palm, although even drunk Brayden can see that he isn’t really doing that at all. Savvie, though, sees what she wants to see - she always has. Jax’s fingers twitch where his hands are still laid on her rounded stomach, feeling the shifting movements of the growing child, the fucking anchor Savvie has tied around his neck. He manages something like a slight, faint smile. “It’s w-wonderful.”

It’s fucking depressing, is what it is.

“Fuck,” Brayden mutters, wishing he had another drink. 

[whumpshaped]

have you written tiny whump? I jus think you have but struggle to remember its name

u can check my #mitten and #muffin tags for some tiny whump, other than that sometimes i write tiny whump drabbles so if u search #tiny whump or #tiny whumpee im sure smth will come up

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

how are the Bad Choices effecting you this fine day, cheeto? XD

I've written like 5,000 words of brutal Wild whump, and now I have to go through and edit it. Like, Dead Dove levels of whump, perhaps. But I'm eating a muffin, and it's pretty good, so I have that going for me.

[14muffinz]

Name: Muffin

~●○°●○°●○~ Likes: Fluff, Whump, Slice of Life, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Squicks: Slow burn, reader insert, and abusive parents. Favorite Iteration(s): Rise, MM/TOTTMNT, 2012, Bay. Feel free to use whatever iteration you please, even if it's not listed here.

~●○°●○°●○~ Prompt #1 Rise Raph in the Mutant Mayhem world. Prompt #2 Girls night except the turtles are also invited. They still call it girls night though. Prompt #3 They all have bad days. [Raph/Leo] may have assigned himself the oldest sibling role, but that doesn't stop the rest of them from helping each other out however they can. Prompt #4 April's family meeting the turtles for the first time. Prompt #5 AU where they started as humans instead of turtles. It is not required that they stay this way. ~●○°●○°●○~

[noses-in-winter]

🌼🌻?

🌻taken by surprise

🌼hitching

Ty for the ask, sorry this took a little over a week to post! Here we have: Dr. Lawrence Sheldon having an emotional episode (actually, kind of a meltdown) in front of his new found family maternal figure Em, all while having a bad cold! She loves him so much and he as an individual feels unlovable :') This is set right after his first breakup and his heart is busted. Essentially, there's a lot of emotional whump in here and also loads of h/c, and crying <3 also sneeze shame because Lor feels a LOT of embarrassment and shame regarding his own nose and sneezing. He’ll feel differently down the line, but for now he’s a wreck over it. 😊

Idk if I’ve mentioned before but Lor is def a he/him nonbinary guy who doesn’t relate to masculinity and manhood, but hasn’t realized that about himself yet. There’s a lot of things he hasn’t realized about himself! 😊

Don't reblog to non-sneeze blogs, thaaaanks

This was weird. It wasn’t bad, but it was weird. 

“Honey, how are you able to be feverish and so chilled at the same time…” Em tutted with a shake of her head, both hands cradling Lor’s cheeks as she spoke. She stood before him as he sat on the edge of the bed; This was probably the only time Lor would ever have to look up to the much shorter woman. He sniffled quietly and kept his gaze down, more than a little afraid of meeting the eyes of someone so very near him. It was ridiculous, but part of him felt like maybe nobody would be able to see how absolutely wrong he looked if they didn’t make eye contact. 

Though, his entire life thus far could prove that nobody needed to look him in the eye to realize how completely homely he was.

“I-...I don’t know. Sorry,” Lor murmured as Em curled her hand to place the back of her fingers to his cheeks. The cool sensation was wonderful on his feverish face, but Lor still felt a pulsing worry that she was going to realize how absolutely repulsive he was any minute now, especially after touching him. “You really don’t have to do anything for me…” 

“Ohh, muffin,” she said softly, fingers beginning to run through his hair. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. You just think of me as your temporary stand-in mother.” Em said this with a playful upturn of her lips, though the genuine warmth was more than evident in her voice. She noted Lor’s shivering and went to the unfolded luggage rack that had a small stack of cardigans and sweaters. “Do you have a preference for cozy clothes, sweetheart?”

“Oh, um…” Lor sniffled and shook his head. “Any is fine, but, uh...the gray one is my favorite.”

Em retrieved it and brought it back. Lor thanked her quietly as he pulled the cable knit sweater over his head. Emerging from it with disheveled hair, Lor still couldn’t look at her. His greatest fear at the moment was Em suddenly realizing how absolutely terrible he was, and deciding that even she couldn’t manage to be good to him. 

It didn’t always used to be like this. Sure, Lor had always been insecure with a poor self image, but it’s like that had all increased tenfold ever since…

Well. He couldn’t think about that relationship ending. 

Lor took a tissue from the box on the nightstand and folded it beneath his nose as it threatened to drip. Desperate to fill the silence so Em wouldn’t have to be forced to focus on Lor cleaning himself up, he said the first thing that came to mind. “I never got this sort of thing from...my mother…”

Em was quiet for a beat before taking a seat next to him on the bed. The mattress dipped slightly with her added presence, and Lor suddenly found himself sliding closer an inch. Normally he would be perturbed by anyone coming closer when he was clearly in a worse state than usual, but it was like Em always had a bubble of peace and calm and love around her. He wasn’t sure when the last time was that he had ever felt this...comforted. “Oh?” “Yeah, uh…” 

He had talked about his terrible mother to Piper some, both when they dated and when they used to be friends, but not enough to push himself past the point of ‘bitter and angry child’ and into the territory of ‘genuinely hurt and wounded child’. His brother was more of a ‘don’t hang onto the past’ kind of person. Lor was endlessly frustrated with this approach. Maybe it was because his past was so full of bruises that kept being pressed and pressed and pressed enough to keep them from healing even slightly. His brother had always been handsome and sociable and funny and athletic. His brother never had to worry about anyone hurting him.

Especially not the way that Piper had hurt Lor. 

God. The pain in his chest was a searing knife. When was this going to be over? When was he going to be able to think about her without feeling like he was dying? 

Em reached to squeeze his shoulder. Lor startled and looked at her with wide eyes before promptly sniffling, lower lip wobbling as he fought to keep tears back. He had spent years learning to steel himself against crying in the face of being mercilessly bullied, but he had never had to do it in response to someone...being good to him. It just plainly didn’t happen.

“I miss her so much,” he said through tight wheezes, visions of Piper’s face flooding his mind. He fumbled for his inhaler, popping the cap and taking two deep puffs of the medication. Lor squeezed his eyes shut, forcing hot tears to stream down his cheeks. He was feverish and cold and alone in the world, and his tear ducts knew this all too well. 

“Oh, you poor baby…” Em cooed, reaching to hold his face again. Lor finally, finally met her eyes. Her expression was one of ginger, permeating warmth that touched every bit of his aching heart. Why was she being so nice? Why did she care about him? How could she care about him? All these questions swam through his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to move away. Lor closed his eyes again and trembled. “When did she pass?”

“...What?” Lor asked with a sniffle.

Em’s eyebrows were drawn upward in sympathy. She reached for two tissues and began to dry the tears running down his cheeks. “Your mother, honey. How long ago did she die?”

Oh. She thought he was missing his mother. Lor would have let an embittered laugh tumble out of him were his nose not scrunching with a noisy sniffle. He didn’t often get a warning when a tickle was brewing enough to turn into something concerning; Part of his chronic rhinitis keeping him congested a solid chunk of the time also came with a dulled sense of being able to predict when he had to sneeze. Thus, he usually wound up just barely managing to either A) twist away from what he was doing, B) cover, or C) both, when he got extremely lucky. This response was usually activated in kind in public, blessedly, though when he was relaxed or distracted, it wasn’t quite as diligent. His laptop could definitely attest to that. 

Luckily, Lor never really managed to be relaxed around much of anyone, which is what made this moment with Em so...challenging. He was now being given the briefest warning as his nose ran further, and--God, a running nose always--made him--

He fumbled to snatch the tear-stained tissues from Em, yanking them over his nose just as a hitch wheezed out of him. The softness of the mattress compressed beneath Lor with two sibilating sneezes that took him by surprise, hunching his shoulders. “Hh-! Hahh--Hhzz’zhuh! HehhzzHUE!”

The set of sneezes left him thoroughly winded. This wasn’t exactly a difficult feat to accomplish, but the asthmatic astronomer still found himself woozy in the aftermath. Lor tried to sniffle and was unsuccessful. Lungs rattling with a weak exhale, he reached to fumble for the inhaler on the bedside table again. Lor finally opened his eyes and was only able to see through one lens of his glasses; the other was slightly too low after the temple had been jostled off his ear.

“B-..Bless you, pumpkin.” 

He was holding the folded tissues to his nose, and Em’s soft fingers along with it. She seemed startled, but instantaneously started to soothe him before Lor could even force his brain to work long enough to react to his hideous situation.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright,” Em cooed softly, easing her hand away as Lor stared at her with wide eyes. “Don’t worry--”

It was like her gentle voice was the button to jumpstart his horrified reaction. Lor scrambled back from her, headboard sounding off a loud thunk! in response to his head knocking against it. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry, I’m disgusting.”

Em shook her head as she slowly reached for him. “Darling, you’re not. I mean it. You’re feeling miserable. You just lost a relationship that was important to you, you’re missing your mother…You’re not disgusting. You’re tired and under the weather. And I’m going to get you taken care of, alright?”

It wasn’t the whole accidentally sneezing in a tissue held by his host thing that made Lor snap. He could have recovered from that with her gentle urging, even if the incident would haunt him before he fell asleep for the rest of his life. It was the soft, gentle promise to take care of him that sent him over an edge that he hadn’t been aware was coming up so fast. It was the straw on the proverbial camel’s back. 

There was no possible way for her to look at what an unlovable human being he was and still want to treat him like this. 

“Let me check your temp, lovebug--”

Lor’s fingers clenched into fists and unclenched rapidly as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop being nice to me!” he begged. “Stop--Stop calling me pet names and stop touching me and stop acting like you like me!” 

He couldn’t look at her. Every breath was coming in short, raspy pants that he couldn’t even begin to control. His arms shook as he let out an overwhelmed whimper, thrusting the palms of his hands over his eyes. Lor’s fingers pressed against his forehead and temples, turning the tan skin there to an irritated red. His brain was on fire as he curled in tight to himself with the meltdown--

The pause button was pressed immediately as Em held his cheeks again. Peace flooded his brain like fresh water being poured into oil. It was only then that Lor realized that this had to be magic in her touch; There was no other possible way for an episode to come grinding to a halt. He had spent his whole life trying. His mother had spent his whole life trying, though her harsh methods certainly wound up doing far more harm to him than good. 

This was unlike any calm he had ever felt, even as he continued to wheeze. 

“Use your inhaler, Lory, sweetheart,” Em whispered. “I promise I won’t touch you again after this. I just had to help you fir--” “No, no, I…” Lor sniffled and took two more puffs of his inhaler. The healing medicine helped him breathe again almost instantly, though he was still sounding worse for wear. Another weak whimper completely deflated his body as he leaned into Em’s cool touch. “It’s okay. I-I’m okay with it. It’s nice. I just…"

His nostrils both flared at once. Lor brought the tissues to his face, breath snagging with hitch after hitch as a sharp tickle raged through his sinuses. After several false starts, a low whine rumbled in his throat as he tried to urge the irritation along. “Hnngg…hh! S-Sorry…”

“Shh,” Em said with a shake of her head, rubbing Lor’s opposite arm as his head fell to her shoulder. “You take your time.”

His jaw hung slack with the mind-numbing tingling coursing through his nose. After several long beats of sneezy weightlessness, he was finally able to buckle into his tissues with a sneeze that shook he and Em both as he remained with his head on her shoulder. His nimble knees jerked toward his chest with the release. “HzzZZEUH! Woah…” Lor blushed, sniffling heavily as he mopped up the underside of his nose. “Sorry, th-that was—sdff! Big…”

Em immediately laughed with all the love in the world in her voice. Lor would normally bristle over someone laughing at anything related to his nose, but it was evident that Em was laughing fondly. She raised one hand and dried a sneezy tear from Lor's cheek before pecking his temple. "My goodness. Bless you, sweet thing. That cold’s just got you by the nose and isn’t letting go, mm?” She gave Lor’s arm a slow rub. “Now. What were you saying, love?”

Lor sniffled, lowering the tissues from his face. He leaned into Em’s hold, feeling perfectly enveloped by her warmth and love. “I, um…” He squeezed his eyes shut, chin wobbling as he spoke. “I…I don’t mind being touched by you. It’s comforting, and—and I’ve never had anything like this before. But I feel like I…I don’t deserve it.”

“You feel unlovable,” Em said quietly, thumbing the tears from his cheeks again. “You feel like nobody could ever think that the person you are is worth looking past your appearance. Which, by the way, is darling. I think you’re just as cute as a button, and I’m sure your mother thought you were handsome, too.”

Lor tried to laugh, but all that came out was a sound that seemed to be a mix of a sigh and a sob. “She’s not dead,” he murmured. “I wish. She never…” Fresh tears were streaming down his cheeks every moment. “She never loved me, I don’t think. Never acted like she did, anyway. And, and you being nice is so...weird...because nobody has ever looked at me and thought I was-....w-worth being taken care of…” He sobbed again. “And I try to make myself think that I don’t need anyone to ever love me, but….”

She was patient and quiet as he struggled to get ahold of himself. Lor was sure his teary, dripping face had to be the worst thing she could possibly be seeing, but everything in him was just so...soothed by her energy. 

“But this is really nice…” Lor hiccuped weakly. “And it’s painful, because nobody is ever going to love me enough to--”

“I will.” Em took Lor by the chin and gently raised his face. She looked into his eyes with purpose. “Alright? I don’t care what your horrible mother thinks. I feel everything good inside of you, and that is worth loving. You’ve been hurt, and damaged, and that clouds the way you view the world, but you still aren’t bad. You are a wonderful young man.”

He felt horrible for flinching. Everything she was saying was so special, and unlike anything he had ever heard, but…“Um-...” Lor sniffled and rubbed a tired wrist back and forth beneath his nose. “Maybe, um… Maybe I don’t like being called a-...uh, a-a man…”

Em processed this information for a beat before nodding. Her hands slowly moved back from his face as he began to recover. “Of course. Well, you are a wonderful Lawrence. And I want you to stay here. Alright?” She gave him a small smile, eyes filled with more emotions than he knew were possible to have at once. “I think you’ve spent too long living on your own.”

He blinked slowly through teary eyes. Lor was exhausted and emotional, and the thought of being in a place where he could get warmth like this without even having to ask for it was....too good to be true, right? But, God, still so, so good. 

“...O-Okay,” he said quietly, sniffling as his nose threatened to run again. “...Thank you. Let’s--um, just let me know what rent and utilities and--hih!--hhh--!" Damn all this fucking hitching! His breath snagged for another several seconds before the tickle backed off. Lor let out a shivery breath. "And...And how much all that is..." he murmured exhaustedly.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Em gave his hand a small squeeze before beginning to stand up. Lor was hardly aware of the way she gently urged him down as she spoke, reaching to remove his glasses. “You just think about getting better, my dear. Everything else can wait.”

Lor’s head eased into the pillow. He closed his eyes immediately and felt a heavy weight on them. Em’s next few words barely made sense as sleep so thoroughly consumed him. The last thing he was aware of was the way her fingers remained laced with his, unrelentingly loving. 

With that, Lor promptly slipped into the deepest sleep of his life.

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Sickly - Blue/Killer Fic

Prompt: Sick Fic

Prompt from: @yearoftheotpevent

Media: UTMV/Undertale AUs

Genres: Pre-established relationship (kinda), enemies with benefits, human AU, Killer is dying (he’s fine), hurt/comfort, whump (??? kinda)

Characters: Blue, Killer, Dream, Ink, Nightmare, Cross (mentioned), Dust (mentioned), Horror (mentioned)

CW/TW - Brief mentions of weed, mucus, and general sickly stuff. No needles

Word count: 5783

God-fucking-damnit!

Why did Nightmare have to be such an asshole!

It was a rarity for Dream to go out with both of his friends, as they often hung out at home. If they did go out, it was either on solo excursions or Ink dragging Blue to go do whatever. Only once in a blue moon they would go out and do something as a trio. However the universe seemed to be against them. Or, more specifically, Nightmare was against him. It was just who Nightmare was. A pain in the fucking ass.

The trio were chilling at a park. Normally they would’ve gone for coffee or something like that, but it was in the middle of the day. None of them were that much of a coffee drinker to get a cup at two pm. They had just gotten out of a nearby museum, which none of them found particularly interesting. Ink thought that the small art exhibit was neat, but Dream was just happy to get out of there. The only one who seemed to be enjoying himself was Blue, however that might be due to the massive muffin he got at the cafe that was inside.

Despite their failure at the museum, the park that they were in was nice. Blue gently bit into his muffin, his feet brushing against the grass beneath him. He and Dream were sitting on a bench, Dream’s arm being carelessly thrown over his shoulders. While there was room on the bench for Ink, he decided to lay on the ground on the opposite side of Blue. He smoked a blunt as he felt the grass with his free hand and Dream mentally thanked the universe for there being no kids in the general vicinity. It was nice.

Until that bitchass known as the King of Negativity had to ruin anything! Screams rang through the park and before Dream could stand up, Nightmare had sent a building tumbling down. Ink had shot straight up, shoving the blunt into his pocket.

“Come on!” Dream helped Ink to his feet and turned his attention to Blue, “We’ll get you another pastry later, we need to go!”

With a heavy sigh, Blue left his muffin to the birds. He ran, keeping a steady pace behind Ink and Dream who always seemed to be wildly ahead of him. It wasn’t like he minded too much though. Being behind allowed him to think. He adored Dream and Ink, but they were… a lot all of the time. When he was with them, he often couldn’t hear his own thoughts. But when the wind was in his ears and he could only focus on his heartbeat, it allowed him to think. Given the chance, Blue would consider himself a deep thinker.

However, his mind couldn’t think about his place in the universe, not at the moment. Not when he had to strategize. When it came to fighting off Nightmare and his gang, there were certain steps Blue had to take. Most of them used to avoid dying. However, ever since a few…more than homoerotic encounters with Killer he had a few more factors to consider. Such as whether or not he felt like doing their flirtatious back and forth with deadly weapons. Sometimes, he was more than down to play Killer’s game and other times he wanted to do literally anything else! It was just how their relationship was.

As the unnatural feeling of dread washed over him, he decided that he did feel like playing with Killer. He was in a good mood, despite him losing his muffin. He would be thinking about that for days. Even if Dream got him another one…man. Maybe fighting Killer would make him forget about it for a while. That’d be nice. Killer was really, really, good at distracting him. It was something that Blue both loved and despised about him.

Catching up with Dream and Ink wasn’t difficult, they never ran fast enough to leave him in the dust. Being close to Dream, especially before battle, was especially important. Just his presence was enough to counter Nightmare’s aura.

“Dream!”

Through heavy and controlled breaths, Dream responded, “Yeah?” “I’ll take Killer.” 

“Ooooh! Going to make out with your boyfriend?” Ink laughed, his body language oddly casual for the situation. His hands were slipped into his pocket, Broomie tucked loosely in his elbow. Blue scoffed at him, rolling his eyes. He didn’t dare complain though. He’d much rather be teased to oblivion over being kicked out for his intimate relations with a mass murderer. He deeply appreciated it actually, even if he didn’t say anything.

There was no time for another word as Dream pulled out his broadswords and sped up towards Nightmare. The city street was a mess. Cars were piled on top of each other and the road seemed torn apart. The building that had crashed down,had crashed in a surprisingly vertical manner. Nightmare and Cross were standing on top of it all. From where he was, Nightmare was shouting instructions to the others. His teal eyes scanned over where Blue and his friends were coming from, narrowing as he caught sight of Dream. Words left his mouth but Blue wasn’t listening. His eyes were scanning the nearby area for Killer. Ink had already gone up ahead to fight off Dust and Horror.

Sometimes Blue felt like he wasn’t pulling his weight enough. More often than not, it was Ink versus two, Dream versus two, and him versus one. Sometimes they fought as a three versus five, but that happened very rarely. However, after taking a second to watch Ink and Dream fight, he remembered that, unlike the two of them, if his arm were to be cut off then he would probably die. And then he always felt a little better. Dream and Ink always did some crazy shit during battles, and then he didn’t feel as much as a burden.

The norm for fighting Killer was a fucked up game of hide and seek. He’d be in the shadows, and Blue would have to find him. It pushed Blue to keep his guard up, as if he didn’t Killer would have him pinned with a knife to his throat. Once found, he and Killer would start their dance.

Needless to say that alarm bells immediately began ringing in Blue’s mind when he saw Killer out in the open. Honestly? He wasn’t looking too hot. He was leaning against the corner of the building, knife loosely held in one hand and the other resting against his forehead. His general spunk wasn’t there. Something was wrong. Blue could feel it. He didn’t slow his pace as he approached Killer, just in case Killer would snap back into reality and attempt to stab him. He was not in the mood to clean and treat a stab wound. He never was. Who would be?

Killer. That’s who.

The freakazoid (who Blue thought was in desperate need of a therapist) always found a way to make stabbing him foreplay of some kind. Never before in his life was getting a wound stitched up by the guy who stabbed you remotely sensual. He guessed that’s what happens when you live in a universe with a man with tentacles coming out of his back and a superiority complex, a best friend who ate an apple and can survive getting his head chopped off, a way too tall buff guy with major daddy issues, and whatever the fuck is going on with Ink. Killer fit relatively well into that group, now that Blue thought about it.

Speaking of Killer, something was definitely off. Blue had made his appearance obvious, and yet Killer barely moved. He didn’t even notice Blue was approaching until he was within stabbing distance. And when Blue was within stabbing distance, Killer gave one of the weakest attempts at stabbing him that he had ever seen. It was slow. Sloppy. Blue tucked his rapier into the sheath on his hip and grabbed Killer’s right wrist. The knife clattered against the pavement as Blue, a bit more rougher than he intended, pushed him against a nearby wall.

As Killer’s back slammed against the wall, a flurry of coughs came out of him. Blue still held onto his wrist, but now it was to hold him up. Killer coughed. And he didn’t stop. It was more heaving than anything, and it was like he was coughing his lungs up. Blue nearly gagged as yellow, blood-stained mucus came out of Killer, landing right in between his boots. After a minute or so of Killer coughing and sending up small chunks of mucus, which Blue was extremely grossed out by, did he finally stop enough to catch his breath.

“Sorry about that baby Blue,” Killer wheezed, still clinging to Blue to keep him upright. “You’ll hafta excuse me, I’m not exactly on my A gaACK-!” Blue shoved him back against the wall, much gentler this time, by his shoulder. Blue slipped off his fingerless glove and pushed back Killer’s dark brown hair to feel his forehead.

“You have a fever.” It was a general statement, more just so Blue could confirm his thoughts out loud.

“Must be why I’m soooo hot.”

Blue facepalmed, dragging his hand down his face. “Why are you out here? You’re clearly sick.”

Killer just shrugged, a knife appearing in his hand once more. “Like I’d let the boss down,” With a shivering hand, he caressed the side of Blue’s face with his knife. “Plus, you think I’d waste a chance to see you? No way!”

“Mm.” Blue pushed Killer’s hand away from his face. “You need to go home and get some rest! You practically hurled your lungs up at me.”

“Lemme think about that. Hmmm…” Killer put the tip of the knife to his chin, thinking. A cruel grin spread across his face and he lunged toward Blue, “Nah!”

This did not end well for Killer, as one might assume. Blue could see the attack coming from a mile away, a sick Killer was a slow Killer and even without being sick, Blue was usually able to dodge his attacks anyway. So the sad attempt at a stab went nowhere. With a heavy sigh, Blue bent down out of the way before scooping Killer up by his waist.

Manhandling Killer was not what Blue had in mind when he went into this fight but here he was, carrying a sickly serial killer over his shoulder. Despite the protests coming from the man slung over his shoulders, Blue was still mulling over taking Killer. Kidnapping- no. No. It’s not kidnapping, he’s taking care of Killer. Clearly, Nightmare hadn’t noticed. Or bothered to care. Blue wouldn’t hold it against him. Maybe. It was an immortal thing. When he got the flu a few months back, Dream was astonished when he could barely stand without help. Dream, the miraculous bastard, didn’t get sick. And Blue guessed that Nightmare was the same.

“Yo! Blue! Put me down!” Killed kicked and shoved at Blue’s back, all the while going through a violent coughing fit. Ink and Dream wouldn’t mind. Would they? Killer could stay in his room and Blue would deliver him back to the castle when he was feeling better. So it wasn’t kidnapping! Ahah! It was just him borrowing Killer for a bit. That was all. He made a mad dash past Dream, Nightmare, and Cross. His scarf whipped around in the wind, a sound that Dream was awfully familiar with.

Taking in a deep breath of air, Blue shouted at the top of his lungs: “Dream! Portal! I’m taking him with me!”

It wasn’t very often that Blue reaped the benefits from Dream’s “punch first, talk later” mentality. This time however, it came in handy, allowing Blue to both get Killer home and not interrupt the fight going on. Dream was atop the pile of rubble, which was a good distance away from where they were fighting. Dream didn’t even bother to properly look over at him, just using his peripherals to get the general area of where Blue was. It was impressive.

“Thanks!”

“Boss!!” “Hey! Where do you think you’re going with him?!” Nightmare shouted at Blue when he saw Killer flailing over his shoulders. It was, however, far too late for Nightmare to realize Blue’s plan. When Nightmare attempted to stop Blue, Blue was already a foot through the portal Dream had opened for him. There was always a staggering difference when universe hopping, often a change in temperature or air quality. Per usual, Ink and Dream didn’t seem to mind, but he often needed a second for his body to recalibrate.

The difference in the air between the two universes was staggering, and Blue took a second to stabilize himself in the front yard. Killer clung to his back, coughing as he did so. Blue staggered to his feet, breathing in the non-polluted air. The change was drastic. The world that he, Dream, and Ink lived in was a world of nothing but forests and animals. It was just them. It was quiet, nothing but the sound of birds chirping to each other and the wind. A beautiful afternoon, really.

With a heavy huff, Blue shifted how he was holding Killer. Killer wrapped his legs around Blue’s waist, surprisingly not fighting Blue as he held him like a baby. Or a really big dog. He had caught his breath from his last coughing spasm, and decided that being a snarky dickwad was the way to go. To be frank, he was always snarky. Just to varying degrees. “I, can NOT believe that you, Mr. Perfect Hero, just kidnapped me! Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Let’s be clear,” Blue grunted, trying to open the front door without any free hands, “I am not ‘kidnapping’ you, I am taking care of you because you won’t do it yourself!”

“I am also completely astonished at the fact that you haven’t dropped me yet! I’m taller than you and yet, here you are. Tossing me around like a ragdoll.” Killer spoke, messing with the foliage by the front door. He managed to touch one of the delilahs that Dream had planted and caressed its petals. Killer took in a deep breath, “And, I do hate to break it to you, I don’t need help. ‘Preciate it babe, I really do, but no thanks.”

A yelp escaped Blue’s lips as Killer started to pull himself up and off of Blue’s shoulders. He struggled to keep Killer on his shoulders and buckled over as Killer freed himself, kicking Blue in his stomach.

“Toodles sweetheaRT!” Killer only made it a few paces away before Blue came running at him. Blue slammed himself into Killer’s waist, the two slamming into the yard. “MotherFUCKER!”

Once more Blue found himself in a situation that he never expected to be in. Wrestling a sickly Killer who was, surprisingly, still able to fend for himself in the front yard of the house. It was only a matter of time, however. Blue would overpower him eventually when exhaustion and illness caught up to him.

“Just let me do this!” Blue shouted, narrowly dodging a swing with a knife to his head.

“No! I don’t need your help! I can take care of myse-”

Killer began to cough again. He writhed against the ground, nails digging into the grass. Blue ran over to him, holding onto his shoulders as he gasped for air. Sweat dripped from his forehead and Blue helped him out of his jacket, wrapping it around his own waist. As Killer continued to heave, mucus coming out of his mouth, Blue grabbed his wrist to check his pulse. It was quick, maybe abnormally quick? Blue wasn’t sure.

“Sh-Shit,” Killer coughed, allowing himself to be helped up by Blue. He opened his mouth to say something more, but he hacked up once more the moment he opened his mouth. Blue shushed him and assisted in escorting him inside the house, this time with little fighting back. The door was unlocked, as there was no one else in the universe apart from the Star Squad, and Killer raised an eyebrow at it.

The inside of the house got an eyebrow raise of astonishment. The house was homey, and was more modern than Killer expected. It was a crossbreed between contemporary and cottage-like interior design, and it meshed the two well. How that was possible, Killer couldn’t put his finger on it. Killer didn’t get a lot of time to marvel at the incredible interior design of the place as Blue led him up to the second floor. The second floor was much less open than the second floor, being a hallway with lots of doors. For one of the doors, Killer could tell immediately whose room was behind it. It was covered in drawings and various paint splatters, and it was fairly obvious as to who resided in the room behind it.

As for the other doors? It was less clear. There were four- no, five, shit his head hurt. There were five doors on the second floor, one on the left side of the stairs. And once you were facing down the hallway, there were three doors on the left and one on the right. The middle door on the left was Ink’s, and Blue led him right past that one.

Getting down the hallway took much longer than Killer would’ve liked to admit. His head was throbbing, his chest felt tight, and he felt uncharacteristically slow. He put a hand to his forehead, rubbing it as if it would help alleviate his headache. Blue opened the door to his bedroom and Killer was treated with a room full of blackout curtains and lots, maybe even too much, clutter. Blue helped Killer out of his shoes and gently scooped him up to get him onto the bed.

With a heave, Blue setted Killer down onto his bed, and promptly began flicking on the variety of lamps and string lights scattered across the room. Once finished, the room had a cozy aura to it, and Killer could clearly see most of the clutter that Blue had.

“I’m going to get somethings, alright? Don’t go anywhere.” Blue said. It was supposed to come off as stern and commanding, but the concern and worry it was laced with didn’t give it the power he wanted. Luckily for Blue, Killer couldn’t even manage the idea of getting up now that he was laying down. He gave Blue a thumbs up, and Blue left the room, leaving Killer’s jacket on the chair by his desk.

Killer took the first couple of seconds to stare at the ceiling. How did his condition get this bad? He could’ve sworn he was fine a few days ago! Now that he was here, however, laying down, having no choice but to experience what his body was feeling. And that feeling was awful. Every time he coughed, his chest rocked with pain. His body ached all over, and he couldn’t stop shivering. Shit, he needed his jacket.

After staring at the ceiling got boring, Killer’s eyes glanced to the right, where a massive shelf full of action figures of various media were meticulously placed on each shelf. He snickered to himself, looking at them all. He was sure Blue had organized them in some sort of convoluted way.

Before long, Blue came back, his arms full of things. As Killer expected, it was a variety of medical supplies. It was set down on the side table to his left, but Blue didn’t do anything with it just yet. First, he went over to his desk and opened his laptop, logging in and opening a few tabs. From across the room, it looked like a note-taking application and some search engine.

“Watcha doing over there?”

Blue pushed the chair out of his way when he got up, moving it completely away from the desk. “I’m going to keep track of your symptoms as well as finding out what exactly is wrong with you.”

“Well, you’re going to be searching for a looong time then.”

“Hah hah.” Blue spoke with a stone cold face. He had dragged the chair from his desk over to the bedside table. “I’m going to take your temperature now. Hold this under your tongue and don’t move it, alright?”

“I can’t believe you don’t have one of those, um, one of the thermometers that you can run over your forehead. I guess heroism doesn’t pay.”

“It’s not about payment!” Blue ground his teeth before taking a breath, “Can you just do this for me?”

“Fine.” Without further complaint, Killer let Blue put the thermometer into his mouth. He slipped it under his tongue and stared up at the ceiling as Blue walked back over to his laptop. He bent over the desk, typing away, likely in the notes window instead of the search engine. Killer tilted his head upwards, grinning wildly to himself.

The thermometer beeped, and Killer took it out of his mouth. Without looking up from his computer, Blue asked, “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“The temperature, dipshit. What is it?”

Killer rolled his eyes, although it wasn’t visible due to his lack of pupils. “One o’ two.”

“One hundred and two…” Blue repeated softly to himself and typing it into his computer. “You can put it back on the table now.”

It took Killer a second to realize what Blue had said to him, but he did so eventually. He watched his hand as he set the termometer down, and cringed as he saw it shaking violently. His entire body was shivering in this manner. It was uncomfortable, with sweat dripping down his face. He put his hands over his chest and coughed, swallowing the mucus that came up as he did so.

“Motherfucker…”

“What?” Blue walked over to Killer, concern prevalent on his face. He sat down and took a cloth and wiped the sweat from Killer’s face. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m shaking again…” Killer coughed out.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Huh?”

“How long have you been coughing and shivering like this?”

Killer shrugged, tilting his head to the opposite side. “I dunno…a few days maybe? Not a crazy long time.”

Standing up again, Blue nodded. He went back over to his computer, and pulled up the search engine tab. Killer couldn’t see what was on the screen, but he could make a guess that Blue was searching up his symptoms.

“Have you been sneezing a lot or struggling with a runny nose?”

“Nope.”

With a hum, Blue continued on his search. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for. He stood up once more, and Killer wondered if he was getting tired of the back and forth pacing across his bedroom, and plopped down next to Killer.

“What’s the news doc?”

For the first time, Blue smiled at that. Killer felt his chest warm, but not in a sickly way. “Well, it’s very likely that you have pneumonia. After getting whooping cough off of my list, webMB suggested that a form of pneumonia might be a possible and-”

“YOU’RE USING WEBMD??? Oh my goddd.” Killer wheezed, “It’s a miracle you didn’t diagnose me with lung cancer or some shit holy jesus.”

“Hey! WebMD is a fine diagnostic tool as long as you know what to look for! Second of all, even if it did give me lung cancer, you’re twenty six! People your age rarely get diseases like that.”

“First of all, I’m twenty five.”

“No you’re not.”

“I literally am.”

“You’re three years older than me. I’m twenty three.”

“Whatever, anyways-”

“NOW!” Blue clapped his hands together, promptly shutting up Killer. “While I think it might be pneumonia, I need to check one more thing, alright?”

“‘Kay.”

Blue’s fingers brushed up against Killer’s shirt before sharply pulling his hand back. “Ah! Sorry. May I?” He asked, gesturing to his chest.

“You don’t have to ask to touch me babe.” Despite his body aching and current state of weakness, Killer managed to find the strength to touch Blue’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “You’re always welcome to have your way with me.”

“Okay!” Blue chirped, and Killer wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Blue slipped his hand up Killer’s shirt, having it rest on the left side of his chest. He bent down slightly, resting the side of his ear against Killer’s chest as well. There was the soft beating of Killer’s heart and Blue exhaled softly. “I need you to breathe normally, okay? I can’t do this if you’re freaking out.”

“Ye-Yeah, sure.” Killer tilted his head to his right, tearing his eyes away from Blue who was bent over him. “Whatever.”

Trying desperately to keep his breathing calm, he studied the action figures on Blue’s shelving. They weren’t in boxes, and yet they seemed clean and wellkept. Even the shelf itself didn’t have a single mark on it. A smirk grew across his face, and his hand trailed across Blue’s lower back, holding onto his waist. 

“What are you doing?”

“Holding you.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Blue slipped his hand from Killer’s shirt, rolling his head over to the other side. While he very well could’ve shoved Killer off of him, seeing as how weak he was at the moment, he decided against it. He didn’t hate being so close. 

“I like your dolls.”

“My whu-HEY!” With cheeks flushed, Blue shot straight up. Killer pulled his arm back just in time, and his grin widened as he saw the glare on Blue’s face. “They’re not dolls, they’re collectable figurines!”

“Uh huh. And Nightmare isn’t the King of Negativity.”

“You know what?” Blue held his hands up, “I’m not going to argue with you about this. Just know that you are wrong.”

“Sure I am. Hey, where are you going?’

Blue turned around slightly, hand already on the doorknob. “I’m going to get you some water, and then I’ll see about finding you some medicine. Do you have a GP?”

“A what?”

“That answers my question. I’ll be back. Just…try to relax.”

And with that, the door was shut. The room, no, the whole house, was quiet. Killer rolled onto his side, facing away from the door. Now that Blue was away, all of his pain came back in waves, and stronger than before. He pulled his knees into his stomach, curling up onto the bed. Shivering and sweating was a horrible mixture, and he hated how his body couldn’t decide between being hot or cold. Maybe he should just sleep. Naps always helped.

First, of course, he had to cough up his lungs and shoot some gross mucus into the trash can by Blue’s bed. He hadn’t noticed it before, but there it was on the left hand side of the bed. Once he finished, he shut his eyes. Despite all the lights in Blue’s room, it wasn’t too much. In fact, it was perfect. Not too bright to make sleep impossible, but not too dark to make moving impossible either. Blue had somehow found the perfect balance. It was impressive.

Exhaustion ran over him, and when his eyes shut, he found himself unable to open them.

Killer didn’t die. Obviously. That’d be a rough end to the story, wouldn’t it? He just took a long nap. He did wake up, and at one of the worst times ever, to be honest. Drool was plastered down his chin as he sat up, still trying to compute where he was and what was happening. The analog clock on the desk showed “4:46” and Killer huffed. Four am. Great. All of the lights had been turned off. Blue must’ve come by and turned all of them off when he noticed that Killer was asleep. Blue must’ve tucked him in too, as the covers were neatly swaddled around him.

On the side table was a large bottle of water, some pain killers, and some type of, now cold, soup. The moment Killer’s eyes landed on the water, he grabbed it and drank the majority of it. The bed squeaked as he sat up, and was borderline frightened when what he thought was a pile of clothes on the floor stood up. Before he could summon a weapon though, his eyes adjusted to the familiar figure as the blanket fell to the floor.

“You’re awake,” Blue whispered, relief obvious in his voice.

“‘Course I am. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Despite the darkness, Killer could see the outline of Blue’s body perfectly. And he could see Blue’s hand coming to touch his forehead. “I was a little worried.”

“Hah.” Killer took Blue’s hand and put it against his cheek. At first, his instinct was to kiss the back of it, but he decided against it. The last thing he needed was to get Blue sick as well. He wasn’t sure how his sickness was passed around, but he didn’t want to leave anything up to chance. “No need to be, as if I’d leave you all on your lonesome, plus-”

The thermometer was shoved in his mouth, interrupting him. If he had to guess, Blue got a wee bit flustered. He was incredibly suave, he wouldn’t blame Blue for not being able to handle him. The light from the alarm clock wasn’t bright enough, which was a shame. Killer would’ve loved to see the flush on his cheeks. What he could see, though, was the tiredness in Blue’s eyes. 

Shit.

Thermometer still in mouth, Killer patted the spot next to him. Blue climbed over his legs, sitting down next to him, hip to hip. The thermometer beeped, and Killer placed a hand on Blue’s thigh to keep him there. He knew that Blue wanted to write down whatever temperature that was on his computer. He wasn’t too inclined on letting that happen though.

Killer pulled the thermometer out of his mouth, holding it between his fingers like a cigarette. “Don’t get up yet. Stay with me for a bit.”

“Tell me what it is, please?”

“A hundred and one.” Killer set the thermometer on the bedside table, and turned to face Blue, hand on his cheek. “So, what’s happening?” “What?”

“What’s my diagnosis! How long do you plan on keeping me here, eh?” Killer winked at him, “And why’d you start feeling me up earlier? If you want to have a little fun, all you gotta do is call me.”

“Have you no shame? Why do you keep flirting with me???” Blue laughed softly, scooting down into his bed. “I think you might have some kind of pneumonia. I’ll keep you here for a few days, and if you get worse or show no signs of improving I’ll see about getting you into a hospital.”

Killer sneered.

“Don’t look at me like that. I want you to get better! And with lots of rest, you will.” Blue pushed some of Killer’s dark brown hair out of his face. “I got you some meds that should help.”

“Uh oh. What kind of meds?”

“Macrolides! They’re designed to assist the body in fighting off bacteria, which is basically what pneumonia is. Although that’s more of the drug type, it’s taken orally! I could tell you the specific medication if you would like me-”

“Yeah no. I’m good. Nerd. Why were you feeling me up?”

“I wasn’t-!” Blue face palmed, groaning into his hand. “I was checking your heartbeat.” “In the gayest way possible?!”

“Yes.” Such confidence. “A symptom of pneumonia is a rapid heartbeat. I think it was rapid? But I couldn’t be sure.”

“It was rapid because you were being gay and laying on top of me. Idiot.”

“Regardless, how are you feeling? Like your chest and stuff.”

How was he feeling? Emotionally? Surprisingly alright. It was nice to just flirt and chat. Physically, however? He felt like shit.

“Hurts. But the water helped a little.”

With a nod, Blue sat up. “I’ll go get you some more. Are you awake enough to try to eat some soup?”

“Wait no, don't leave.”

Blue got off the other side of the bed as Killer continued to whine. He quickly turned on his computer, recording Killer’s temperature before shutting it once more. Before he could get far, Killer grabbed his hand and tugged him back. With a sigh, he sits down beside Killer.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m just going downstairs.”

“Last time you did that, I fell asleep and I didn’t get to see you again!” Killer wailed, squeezing Blue’s hand and placing it against his face. “Just stay with me for a bit.”

Soft, gentle laughter filled the room as Blue placed his forehead against Killer’s. “You’re so funny. I’ll be back soon alright?”

“Noooooooo!”

“Here, would you like a goodbye kiss?”

Blue leaned in, going in with full intent to kiss Killer right on his lips. Before he could, Killer put his free palm against Blue’s face, pushing him back slightly. He wasn’t against the idea of kissing Blue, of course, sometimes he dreamed about it. But he was sick! He couldn’t be going around kissing a sick guy! (As attractive as he may be.)

“WOAH. Hold up Baby Blue. I don’t wanna get you sick. Having Dream or Ink taking care of the both of us would be literal Hell. So maybe, uh, don’t?”

With a frown, Blue huffed, “You were literally just flirting with me! I don’t think you’ll get me sick.”

Killer’s breathing hitched slightly as Blue got closer, a hand being placed on the side of his face. “Just one?”

“Just one.”

Their lips connected. It was more than a gentle peck, and Killer ran his hands through Blue’s hair. After a few moments, Blue pulled away, his hands gently stroking Killer’s face and shoulders. He gave Killer a final kiss on his nose, and grabbed the cold soup bowl and water bottle.

“I’ll be right back, promise.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Killer snuggled back into the bed, “By the way, I can’t believe that you are sleeping on the floor. Hell no. You’re going to share a bed with me.”

“Haha, alright alright.” Blue laughed, before yawning and walking out of the room. The door wasn’t shut that time, but there wasn’t much to see.

After coughing for a second, Killer continued to stare out of the room. His cheeks flushed and he pulled the covers up to his face.

“I love you.”

[x-i-l-verify]

c!Dream and c!Bad (for blorbo bingo)

My boys!! Ah you know me too well f1ve. <3 Okay, c!Dream first:

I have had incurable brainrot for a year and a half about this sad green man. I rotate him in my brain at all hours. Everyone but me and dreblr is wrong about him, I will fight armies in his defense while simultaneously dragging him to therapy by the ear because he's a Fucked Up Littol Guy. A hug and a relaxing cottagecore arc and a pet cat would have fixed him, I think. I'm still so mad about how he was treated both in the overall narrative and in the fandom, and that we will never get Season 2 to tie up all the loose ends about his Plan:tm:. Save him from both the fandom's radioactively rancid bad takes and also his creator's and dreblr's pathological need to whump him within an inch of his life every other week. 🙏

*When I say "Not enough canon/underrated" I mean there isn't enough of the the actual canonical version of him and not the Flanderized version of him that exists in the general fandom zeitgeist, aka the version of him on Tommy's streams where he's hamming it up as a 1 dimensional caricature of a supervillain for the Plan:tm:.

-

c!Bad! My skrungly!! Silly, soft, chaotic marshmallow muffin man who's been traumatized to hell and back by eldritch poultry, treat him to therapy a blanket and hot chocolate please. <3 Incredibly underrated, is usually only talked about for his villain arc you know, the one where he was being actively mind-controlled and horrifically violated in one of the worst ways someone can be violated or if he's being shipped with his best friend. Deserves way more attention and affection from the fandom, frankly. Also deserves a vacation lbr.

2 bingos!! :D

[mejomonster]

After some debate on which Tale of Genji translation to read, I picked the Washburn version. I got the Tyler version too but Washburn's suggested primary goals of readability and accessibility to a modern audience versus Tyler's goal of preserving the most of the original literary style, and while normally I'm bigger on Tylers preference of what to preserve... I'd like to read it easier so I found Washburns intro chapter flowed easier (maybe a sentence structure more like modern English novels is the difference?).

I also think while so far best are using mainly titles instead of naming the characters, as one would expect, the Washburn version is just using those titles a bit more like how I use them when telling a story verbally so it's a bit easier for me to mentally follow what's going on. I imagine the Washburn poem sections will be less nice though.

[kcrabb88]

15, 16, 17 for the ao3 wrapped? :D

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

I juuuust finished a huge big long Star Wars WIP but! I'm starting a new one called Kill the Lights, and I'm betting I'll get the first chapter up before year's end (probably) so if I do, that one!

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

I looked at these in a couple different fandoms, and in Les Mis, it's overwhelmingly "Canon era" and in Star Wars it's "oral sex" and then "Obi-Wan Kenobi needs a hug" which tells you I've been writing a lot of smut and whump this year, LMAO. In Phantom of the Opera it's "Bisexual Christine" and "Rule 63" which, hell yeah, girl Raoul verse supremacy.

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

Obi-Wan, my darling dear cookie honey muffin old man. I've Also had sooo much fun writing more of my beloved Quinlan Vos this year, and Anakin, Padme, Leia, and Bail have been among my faves.

Talk to me about Ao3 Wrapped!

[a-crumb-of-whump]

tag your favourite oc's from other whump blogs :0

don't actually keep up with many ocs from other people outside of my moots :( but here

Ivan, Cooper, August and Seven - @stabby-nunchucks

@pumpkin--anon, @sethwhumps (SPK and KSW),Mitten and Muffin - @whumpshaped

Jim, Kane, Bellamy, Liz - @whumpsday

[nikibogwater]

Further Daniel Spellbound Blethers:

I take back what I said about Hoagie being tolerable. He was fine in the first episode, but he is definitely the Wizards-era Steve Palchuk of this show. Literally every time he is forced to shut up or leave the scene for a while, I breathe a sigh of relief. Like, I get why he’s so crass and wise-cracky all the time, but for the love of sanity, TONE IT DOWN. 

DARTH MAUL?????? Oh wait no, just a spider centaur? Okay nevermind, continue. 

I love all the creature/character designs in this show. The mermaid queen in particular was a standout to me, as well as the feral frog lady who keeps the door for her. 

ALSO OH MY SWEET MOTHER OF MUFFINS, I LOVE THE GREMLINS SOOOOO MUCH. THEY’RE SO WEIRD AND JANKY AND BIZARRELY ADORABLE. JUST FUNKY LITTLE DUDES. 😍

Story-wise, the pacing of this show is just right for me. Nothing moves too fast or too slow, and important information about the characters tends to be dropped in little tidbits so the audience can put the pieces together themselves. For an urban fantasy, there are surprisingly few exposition dumps, so kudos to the writing team for that. 

Our third protagonist Lucy takes a few episodes to really join the fray, but we get to see enough of her in the beginning that we have a vague idea of who she is and what she wants. I will say she seems to suffer from a mild case of “Strong” Female Character Syndrome. It’s not as bad as Claire Nunez from Trollhunters (at least Lucy is allowed to not know about or be particularly good at certain things–she even gets her butt handed to her in combat a couple of times), but there is an annoying bit where both she and Daniel are morally at fault for something, but only Daniel is expected to apologize and make up for his mistake–Lucy gets off scot free. 

I do like that even though she and Daniel are on opposite sides of the fence, so to speak (she’s basically a cop and he’s basically an agent for the black market), they actually like and respect each other to a certain degree, even before they are forced to work as a team. 

I think this series’ biggest flaw is in its action sequences. Some of them are genuinely painful to watch–not because the characters are actually getting hurt, but because the choreography, timing, and animation are super wonky. Action scenes are crazy hard though, so I have nothing but sympathy for the people who had to work on these. Still, the poorly-done action scenes are very emersion-breaking for me. It this show gets a second season, I really hope they can improve in this area.

Speaking of characters getting hurt, Daniel is a whump-magnet kind of character for sure. Like, if this show ever gets a proper fandom presence with fics and stuff, I can guarantee Danny is going to get hurt a LOT. 

Also Daniel has DEFINITELY met Douxie from ToA Wizards at some point. This crossover is a gimme. I need art and fics immediately. 

[whumpshaped]

i am not really sure how to explain this one. i was debating posting it to my own blog but hm i don’t know, i do however think it might be fun to do to mitten :) if this is alright

cw: cutting, gory gross tiny whump prompt

mitten would have to be perhaps, eight inches tall for this to work? a razor blade is rather large compared to its body.

a sharp blade, sawing into the top of its leg, slicing back and forth and deepening the cut. it dips down to catch the inner and outer thigh as well, only to then move just slightly down and start again. it creeps along until the deep, narrow slits are pouring blood, covering the blade, whumper’s fingers, the table.

it’s only after a splash of water washes off the blood that mitten even realizes the damage. its entire upper leg, riddled with slices so close together they nearly overlap, now gaping open. grotesque. its body is going to be uncomfortable, to say the least, for quite some time.

(since this is rather straightforward and boring it could be changed up to make it more interesting, perhaps involving muffin somehow)

(apologies if i’ve messed up the etiquette in any way, i am new to this.)

u did not mess up anything ! however i honestly just like this how it is lol the mitten voice is just not coming to me rn, and im not even sure what i could add other than desperate crying. but i think its a lovely and vivid concept so im gonna post it

[mitsuki-komori]

MitsukiKomoriX191’s Bakery Event!

Welcome to MitsukiKomoriX191’s Bakery Event! This will be my first original event. You may order a cake or pie and some add-ons with toppings, all of your choice! This event was heavily inspired by @lyranova and @acacia-may

The Rules:

You will be able to choose one type of relationship for me to write, romantic, family, and platonic

You can choose up to two types (Fluff, angst, etc.)

Lastly, you will choose either a topping (trope) or an add-on (prompt). You can choose up to three prompts at a time, or you may choose up to two tropes and one prompts or whatever combination as long as it doesn’t go higher than three.

An order should look something like this… “Can I get a vanilla cake and a muffin with frosting, sprinkles, and cookies for Magna x Luck?” With maybe a brief little description of the specifics. I wouldn’t want to write something that you didn’t want.

I look forward to requests, I hope I did this right.

Relationship

Vanilla Cake - Romance

Chocolate Cake - Family

Pie - Platonic 

Type

“And a…”

Cinnamon Roll - Fluff

Donut - Humor

Fruit Loaf - Alternate Universe - Modern or Canon divergence

Muffin - Angst (Anything, just not rape, alright?)

Brownie - Hurt/Comfort

Tropes (Optional)

“With…”

Frosting - Enemies/Friends/Rivals-to-lovers

Sprinkles - Jealousy

Raspberry Sauce - Fake Dating(?)

Chocolate - Sick fic

Whipped Cream - Trapped in a blizzard 

Caramel - Sharing a bed

Candy - Unhappy Ending

Fruit - Whump

Nuts - Miscommunication 

Custard - Coffee Shop AU

Bacon - Overprotective… (siblings, boyfriend, girlfriend, etc.)

Prompts 

“And (a)…”

Cookies - “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Biscuit - “Don’t leave me please!”

Croissant - “I can’t take this anymore…”

Bagel - “I’m begging you, please don’t lock yourself in your room.”

Baguette- “How could you betray us/me like this!?”

Bun - “You better put that knife down…”

Tart - “Oh god, you’re bleeding…”

Macaroons - “Hey don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Eclair - “I’ll always be here for you.”

Strudel - “We can stay like this until you feel better.”

Scone - “It hurts…”

Waffle Cone - “You abandoned me…”

Tiramisu - “I’m gonna kill him/her for doing this to you!”

~

Cream Puffs - “Please put me down, it’s just a sprained ankle…”

Créme Brûlée - “You just hit me with your broom, but your hot so I’ll forgive you.”

Pretzel - “This is awkward…”

Maple Bar - “Sorry for accidentally breaking into your apartment!”

Crepe -  “This isn’t good.” | “How can you tell?” | “You see how they’re all surrounding us with their grimoires and we don’t have an escape?”

Cake pop - “Why exactly are we running away?”

Canelés - “Can you please use the door? You know I have to pay to get those walls/windows fixed… right?”

Mille Feuille - “Why aren’t you dating him/her?” | “Because I’d destroy him/her.” | “He/She’d be into that.”

Coffee - “Right now I don’t know if I wanna kiss your or shove you off a bridge…

~

Cheesecake - “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

Flan - “Can you be my boyfriend/girlfriend real quick?” Or “Just pretend to be my date.”

Pumpkin Bread - “You’re shivering… Do you want my jacket?”

Banana Bread - “Did you just kiss me…!?”

Gingerbread - “I never really understood all the talk about love, but I think I’m starting to get it now…”

Confetti Squares - “Can I hold your hand?”

Danish - “I had a nightmare…”

Truffles - “You’re way too cute.”

Cupcakes - “You had me worried sick!”

Pancakes - “Woah, you look so pretty!”

Churros - “Your hugs brighten my day.”

Pudding - “I don’t want anyone else…”

Shortcake - “Ha, your dream guy/girl kinda sounds like me!”

Cornbread - “I mean, I’d totally kiss you if you asked!”

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

L'Enfant Blessé

by Janie__loops Dick and Bruce embark on a seemingly innocuous trip to the Denver Art Museum. But a painting of a child acrobat's tragedy changes a few things. Or- if Bruce was to argue- everything.   "There were things he would never tell the boy he bought five muffins worth sixty dollars for at the overpriced cafe. Dick had cried the rest of their time at the museum, sputtering that that wasn’t how the circus was. How training as a family was a craft, not labor. The boy’s early childhood was still stark in his mind, unlike his older counterpart’s tearful admittance that the colors had now dimmed and he couldn’t remember the popcorn or his mother’s laugh. “It said in the little commentary thing next to the painting-“ Dick sniffed. “That they killed the kid for money! Because they trained him. That’s not fair!”" Words: 1154, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, ( mentions of), John Grayson, Mary Grayson Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Robin, Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury, Dick Grayson is Not Okay, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson-centric, Hurt Dick Grayson, Romani Dick Grayson via https://ift.tt/xZp7BMk